Few of the Eleven Satanic Rules of the Earth ring more personally to me than this one. In a philosophy and religion that stresses the survival of the fittest, stressing the ego (and thus the self), it is thusly that I find child abusers absolutely disgusting. I myself had to endure this kind of bullshit for nearly fourteen years, until I was big enough to fight back.

In a county of absolute police corruption known only as Volusia, within Florida, it is more than often impossible to get the local police to do virtually anything. I can't tell you how many times I've reported child abusers at work (I am only eighteen years of age, and thus work in retail), just for them not even to call me back.

Today, I decided to take matters into my own hands, perhaps foolishly; perhaps not so.

Nothing disgusts me more than a "parent" slapping a child -- when the child had done nothing. There is a fine line between "discipline" and abuse.

This particular incident occured between a child who could be no older than four years old; his shoes were mismatched, perhaps the very first thing I noticed of him, and his eyes an almost unhealthy blue. While they were in the process of leaving the store, his keen eye spotted our candy machines; in curiosity, he walked about four feet from who I can only assume to be his parents.

His mother was a typical "southern" woman -- the kind you'd find in a stereotypical parody of FOX News; blonde hair, brown eyes, overweight and barely able to walk. His father, equally as stereotypical; with a racing hat, practically white facial hair and little hair on his head, he was the epitome of dirty. Sandy white clothing adorning his body, along with what appeared to be a golden cross necklace.

As they finished checking out their items, the child turned excitedly toward who I assume to be his father -- I was, at the time, covering the customer service desk, and so only naturally saw it. Now, I know whiney children, I know how annoying they can be, the kind that do nothing but scream and bawl when their way is not gotten. This child was anything but. "Look at that one," he exclaimed. The only reply he was met with was a slap across the face by his "father", who proceeded to grab him by the arm and practically drag him out of the store.

No tears came from the child's eyes; perhaps he had simply forgotten how to cry. It was not out of a weakness of a blow, for his head smashed against the candy machine at the force.

This isn't the first time I've witnessed child abuse, as I've said. I've seen it constantly in my current job, too many times to count. I feel sick when I can do absolutely nothing, the very image haunting me. When I can, I try to report such things to the proper authorities, but as I said, they do virtually nothing here. I am responsible for covering "loss management" (aka: security), although I am not officially one of them -- I am more often than not, the only stock person, and the only "security" person there.

After telling -four- managers, who -witnessed- the event, they shrugged it off and did nothing.

I pursued.

I found the family as they were getting into their vehicle; my sight was red with absolute hatred. I know what it's like to go through far, far worse abuse.

They turned to me with little hesitance, an exlcaimed "What?" escaping the mother's lips.

"I don't know if you y'know this or not, but we have laws here, sir," I said, my attention focused direclty on the father, who was in the passenger seat. The child was in the back, pinned to a window by vast amounts of merchandise. Their vehicle was a rusty pickup.

"If I ever see you hit him in this store again, or anywhere else, I will have you put in jail. Alright?"

I should have anticipated the response.

The "mother" apparently had not witnessed the event, she turned to look at the "father" suddenly, who, after a relative three seconds, looked at me with his pale, sandy eyes and exclaimed a mere, "Fuck you, faggot."

I snapped.

"No, fuck you. Any miserable cunt like yourself who touches a child not even a quarter their size and then has the audacity to wear a cross should steer clear of me."

I could see him opening the door. This asshole wanted a fight. He couldn't possibly have been more than about six feet -- of course, I am six and half.

"Yeah, you're a fuckin' pussy, come on over here faggy boy and I'll teach you a lesson. You're just a punk bitch."

His words rang with a bit more accent than I care to put out in words, but I found it doubly ironic that he immediately resulted to "homophobic" insults. I suddenly found myself concerned. What if this asshole had a gun? I had put my well-being at risk, but I felt that this time, it was for a worthy cause.

"I've said what I needed to say to you," I stated, my voice clearer than it ever is when I am not angered. I looked over to the child, his blue eyes gazing through the dirty window. "It's your choice, kid. You can either grow up to be scum like him, or you can be something grand. If he ever touches you again, don't let him li--"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP AND TALK TO ME!" the father exclaimed; I merely finished. "You call 9-1-1 he does shit to you again."

The "mother" kept absolutely silent.

Unfortunately, they had no license plate on their car; if so, I would have stayed longer, but -- finished, I simply turned, and walked back into the store.

As they pulled out and drove into the main lane, he shouted through the window. "I bet you get it in the ass every night, don'tcha boy."

I simply turned to him with a smirk, traffic blocked up. "Words from a coward with an ego so impoverished that they have to pick on their own seed are as empty as their minds."

Alas, I think it went totally out of his head, as he responded with "Yeah, you look like a fagg'it!"

Typical.

Painfully typical.

Perhaps there was a more pragmatic approach I could have used. I certainly didn't go out there for a "good-guy badge"; I did what I found to be necessary. I did what I wished someone would have done for me when my own father treated me like that. I intervened. Upon enterring the store, I informed our loss management supervisor. It's up to him now to report this; though, with how I acted, I could lose my job. Big deal -- it's only a seasonal job.

And maybe, if the child remembers, I gave him hope too that not all people are vermin.

I have no respect for anyone who harms a child. They are the worst type of cretin; they should be drawn and quartered.

The issue is, the police here do virtually nothing. Volusia county is well known not only for corruption, but laziness; to a kid, and I know this from experience, when no one does anything to help -- or atleast, when you never witness it -- nothing hurts more.

I do think I acted too much out of emotion than logic; to an extent, I regret it. I certainly don't feel "proud".

What does Volusia County Sheriff's dept have to do with it? Are you outside city limits?

_________________________Live and Let Die."If I have to choose between defending the wolf or the dog, I choose the wolf, especially when he is bleeding." -- Jaques Verges"I may have my faults, but being wrong ain't one of them." -- Jimmy Hoffa"As for wars, well, there's only been 268 years out of the last 3421 in which there were no wars. So war, too, is in the normal course of events." -- Will Durant."Satanism is the worship of life, not a hypocritical, whitewashed vision of life, but life as it really is." -- Anton Szandor LaVey“A membership ticket in this party does not confer genius on the holder.” -- Benito MussoliniMY BOOK: ESSAYS IN SATANISM | MY BLOG: COSMODROMIUM | Deep Satanism Blog

I'll wager there is some kind of "child abuse hotline" - sometimes HRS-type services respond to things more efficiently than police.

_________________________Live and Let Die."If I have to choose between defending the wolf or the dog, I choose the wolf, especially when he is bleeding." -- Jaques Verges"I may have my faults, but being wrong ain't one of them." -- Jimmy Hoffa"As for wars, well, there's only been 268 years out of the last 3421 in which there were no wars. So war, too, is in the normal course of events." -- Will Durant."Satanism is the worship of life, not a hypocritical, whitewashed vision of life, but life as it really is." -- Anton Szandor LaVey“A membership ticket in this party does not confer genius on the holder.” -- Benito MussoliniMY BOOK: ESSAYS IN SATANISM | MY BLOG: COSMODROMIUM | Deep Satanism Blog

Florida--any county--is actually over-quick to step into family matters. Cops? No need. Svengali is right--DCF (Department of Children & Families) will investigate a zit if it comes over the abuse hotline.

You did what your conscience demanded by speaking up---and no matter what they said, I promise you that at the very least they won't be hitting that child in public places---some other "fag" might be watching.

Y~

_________________________
Magistra, Church of Satan/Autocrat of the Damned

Of course you were upset by what you saw. That would be the normal response. You obviously had your fill, and would not be able to look yourself in the mirror if you did not do something. You did not threaten physical violence.

You gave the kid some advice that he may, or may not understand or heed. You did it because you saw yourself in that back seat. You say that you are eighteen years old. I wonder if I might attempt to do the same? I want to make clear that this is not in response to how you handled yourself. You seem to have shown restraint, given the situation. This is just an “in general” thing.

I had great parents. They were lower income working class folk. They married when my mother was 16, and she got pregnant on their honeymoon. She was 17 when I was born. She sometimes went without food so that I could eat. She had major parenting baggage because of the crap she grew up with. That is why she married so young…escape. She had anger issues, and had the habit of demeaning her children. If you challenged her, she would ask whom you thought you were. The correct answer was “nobody”. My folks had a belt with no buckle. It had a permanent fold. For some reason, I seem to remember that it was used on a daily basis. My mother was the disciplinarian.

Once she started using that belt, she found it very difficult to stop. If my father were home, he would eventually stop her. She was a teenager who felt like she was nobody because her mother abandoned her, and felt having her own kids would make it better. She never dealt with her trauma. She should have gotten help.

Thank goodness, before my son came along, my wife noticed that I had a short fuse. She insisted that I get counseling. I did. Just being aware that I was taught to express my emotions in a negative way is enough for me to consciously not take that road. I am capable of doing that on my own; but I first needed to take steps to acknowledge that my mother had poor parenting skills.

You seem to have handled the situation you described well. I suggest that you take steps to consciously make a plan for how you will deal with raising a child, as someone who did not have this taught to him by his parent. You will be surprised how many times you find yourself wanting to imitate what you experienced.

I do understand. I myself have already noticed my own "short-fuse" with siblings, and aside from childhood "fights" when we were very young (when I was 10), I have never struck them. Thankfully, I too had someone who would stop the abuse when I was a child -- my mother.

She was only 21 when she was pregnant with me, and she was not married to my father at the time; they married in a sort of "shotgun marriage", from my own deductions, in order to make the best of the situation.

I have immense respect for the woman, as she -- someone with only minimal college experience -- later divorced my father when he began abusing my two siblings (I was, at the time, 12) and then put herself through the rest of college and nursing school, with only a job as an EMT and a child support check as income, while raising three kids.

It would have been much easier to stay in the relationship with him. Both of them are now Registered Nurses.

What truly sparked my nerves with this event was that he wasn't even misbehaving. He was hit, for the sake of hitting him.

I doubt I would have my own children, given my history, among certain genetic issues that may/may not arise in them; though I have indeed planned out what atleast not to do incase of ever becoming a father myself.

Thank you, Magistra. I will certainly make sure to inform social services next time, instead. I was unaware they could be reported to for such matters; I had thought it was only if you noticed constant abuse through the family, by means of being a neighbour or something of the sort.

I doubt I would have my own children, given my history, among certain genetic issues that may/may not arise in them;

I found a way around that.

This is straying from the original post...but I think that this point is not moot...I am in no way, shape or form a victim of child abuse. My mother is. She is a devout, fundamentalist Christian. She spent her whole life letting the fact that her mother could not properly bond with her define who she was. I truly meant what I said...I had great parents. The fact that my mother had bonding issues taught me, at a very young age, that I had to rely on myself, as much as possible. I may not be who I am today if things had been different. I call her every mother's day, and tell her that she did her job well. She may not fully understand that; but I do.I guess that is the difference between how a Christian and a Satanist handle their childhoods.

It seems to be a dreaded cycle. According to my mother, both of my parents were extreme victims of child abuse; my mother by her mother, and my father by his father.

My mother grew up on a farm in the "old south"; a small-town bit of Missouri known as Greenfield. My father, in the not-too-distant Arkansas. My father's mother died when he was young, from what I know, whereas my mother's father acted as a sort of counterbalance to his wife. Ironically, my mother's father is a relatively easy-going Freemason, whereas the rest of my grandparents are Christian fundamentalists.

My mother, while certainly having dished out her own form of disciplien in the past, never once struck me to the point of abuse. She too taught me self-reliance -- in a different way, and indirectly -- and I saw it in action through her.